Dark Bride

By Jonathan Ryan

When Father Neal deciphers a voodoo message with a dire warning, he reveals he is part of the Order of the Five Sorrows—a group dedicated to fighting evil with the use of holy objects present at Christ’s crucifixion—and Aidan is destined to become a member

The supernatural unleashed . . .
 
Still reeling from Father Neal’s revelation, Aidan assists his friend Brian by investigating a series of unexplained events at his farm, including eerie lights in the fields at night and his daughter’s fixation with an invisible friend. After women with mysterious powers, who are hunting down a witch from the 1600s, appear, the group embarks on a perilous journey to destroy the Dark Bride before the Grinning Man’s true purpose can come to pass . . . but they will be drawn into a horrific battle that some will not survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: Apr 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781497663053

Jonathan Ryan

Jonathan Ryan is an author, screenwriter, columnist, blogger, and member of the Horror Writers Association. His debut horror mystery novel, 3 Gates of the Dead (Open Road Media), earned rave reviews from the New York Journal of Books, the Midwest Book Review, and Library Journal. The second book in his 3 Gates of the Dead series, Dark Bride, is set for release in 2015. A practiced public speaker, Ryan incorporates topics of writing and religion into his lectures. He has contributed to the Huffington Post, Christianity Today, the High Calling, TAPS ParaMagazine, Intrepid Magazine, the popular horror site DreadCentral.com, and Patheos.com, where he has a regular blog called the Rogue. Ryan took his vows to become a Benedictine oblate novice with St. Meinrad Archabbey. He lives in South Bend, Indiana.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The church is a whore. The church is your mother.

I broke the silence as I read aloud to Father Neal, Reg McClelland, and Darrin Francis. All of them looked up from their books and pints of various imported beers. Our weekly Sunday-night pub discussion had turned into a quiet study session. Books and papers lay scattered across the table where everyone sat reading. The pseudo-Irish pub that hosted us was almost empty, with only a few hipsters nursing their beers on the long wooden bar across from our table.

Father John Neal, dressed in priest black and a white collar, held a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice in his liver-spotted hands. Since Monday was his day off, he could afford not to work on a Sunday night. The white of his hair glowed in the dim light of the pub, and his wrinkled face stretched into a smile. Ahh, the blessed Augustine. If you use that in your sermon, you are bound to get some attention, my lad.

I smiled as I looked at my commentaries, books, and Bible in front of me. At least that quote will. I can’t seem to get my thoughts together tonight.

Darrin laid down his huge tome on Shakespeare. The computer tech guy for our little Scooby-Doo paranormal investigation group, he spent his days preparing his doctoral thesis on religious symbolism in the works of the Bard. He stretched and ran his hands through his tight brown curls. Maybe the two pints of Guinness has something to do with that.

Reg took a drink and wiped beer from his walrus mustache. Aidan is Irish; two pints of Guinness sharpens his mind.

I would suspect that bottle of Irish whiskey, Father Neal said, pointing his wooden cane toward the top of the bar, would have to be emptied before Aidan could have his sermon instincts dulled to the point of incomprehension.

I guess that must explain why my congregation is in a stupor on Sunday morning; they can’t handle their whiskey.

We laughed and the hipsters at the bar turned their eyes from the Reds baseball game on the TV. Usually, we sat outside, but the oppressive heat wave gripping Columbus had driven us inside for the night.

I smiled as I looked at the guys I hadn’t even known a year ago. We had bonded over our paranormal investigations, demon­ fighting, and thwarting the plans of the evil magicians who wanted­ to unleash hell on central Ohio.

Reg, our resident skeptic, Ohio State physics professor and terrible poker player, provided a good balance to the group’s founder, Zoe. She often drifted into crazyland and needed Reg to bring her back to reality. He had saved me from being torn apart by a demon at a house investigation just a few weeks ago.

The professor fingered his gray-flecked mustache. It’s an interesting quote. Did Augustine really say it? His position as the group skeptic, a product of his job as a physics professor, helped keep all of us in check from crazy flights of fancy.

Father Neal leaned back in his chair. The quote is attributed to him, but no one is exactly sure.

I sipped my beer. The tone always sounded like Luther to me.

Luther would tell the devil to kiss his ass. My kinda guy, but I’m guessing neither of those quotes will make it into your sermon, Preacha. Darrin chuckled, hands on his diminishing beer belly. His girlfriend, Kate Collins, made him run with her every evening. They made an odd couple. Darrin looked like Seth Rogen’s younger brother while she bore a strong resemblance to Emma Stone—though scars from a mysterious attack marred her flawless white skin. Kate possessed a razor-sharp mind and had just received her PhD in English. She served as our group’s historical researcher.

Why not? asked Father Neal.

A bit coarse for the ol’ church crowd.

The Bible is full of coarse language, crude bodily illustrations, and blunt language. God doesn’t share our scruples about language when he is trying to get our attention. This is especially true when the Bible talks about God’s people playing the whore, Father Neal said, hands on his cane.

I don’t think the fine people at Knox will appreciate being referred to as whores, do you? Darrin said with a smirk.

Father Neal smiled, marked his book, and closed it. Most likely not, but they need to hear it. Being good Presbyterians, they’ll just have to listen, I’m afraid. The subject of God’s people as a whore, and a bride, is a common theme in scripture.

I leaned forward. You should see the passage in Ezekiel. God’s people are described as spreading their legs like a prostitute. The whole passage is beyond anything Tarantino could come up with on his best day. And then there is Hosea, which I just started preaching from this morning.

Reg spun his glass on the table. Who is Hosea?

A prophet of God from the Hebrew Bible. God commands him to marry not just an unfaithful woman, but a downright slut.

Darrin stopped smiling. Why does God do that? It sounds vaguely sexist.

Father Neal chuckled. Not in the least, my boy. God is presenting Himself as a jilted lover who will do anything for His people. His wrath in the Old Testament largely comes from the distress of His people walking away from their one true love.

Reg looked over at Father Neal. Really? I didn’t know that. I thought the God of the Old Testament was all fire and brimstone.

Father Neal leaned back. He most certainly is, but it’s the fire of a lover, not the fire of a dictatorial judge.

Still, why I haven’t heard this whore/bride stuff in Sunday school? Reg asked.

I snorted. Some of those passages wouldn’t make for good flannel graph material.

Too true, my lad, too true, Father Neal chuckled.

Darrin shook his head and muttered, Church humor.

Father Neal continued. The church today could use a good dose of that sort of language. We have been whoring after our own gods way too long. For instance, in America, the church has a warped desire to be credible to everyone. The problem is, what is credible to one group of people isn’t to another. In the end, both are chasing lovers who are hung like stallions.

Darrin looked shocked at Father Neal’s language, and I laughed. He’s quoting from Ezekiel, bud. Father Neal won’t be contributing to the curse jar anytime soon.

What’s our jar up to now? Darrin said with a laugh, raising his beer glass.

"Jen counted it last night. It’s up to fifty dollars. Your artful display of the F-word during the last Reds–Pirates game filled it very nicely."

Damn Pirates, Darrin mumbled, handing another fifty cents to me.

Father Neal smiled. I’m sure the kids at Saint Stephen’s mission will enjoy their new Wi-Fi when you reach your goal.

I nodded and remained quiet for a moment before saying, This has been my sticking point for a long time. Things are a little better at Knox since Mike, uh, left, but not much. I still have to deal with the same amount of petty crap and political showdowns.

Father Neal nodded. Well, the church is a family, isn’t it? Since when is a family well behaved behind closed doors?

Darrin smirked. If it’s anything like my family, there’s a lot of broken furniture in the house that’s been used as flying projectiles.

I took a sip of beer. Furniture hasn’t been thrown, yet.

What’s your future at Knox look like? Are they going to hire you as the head pastor? Reg asked.

I shrugged. They talked about it, but presbytery most likely won’t allow it. The normal rule of thumb is an assistant pastor can’t take over for a head pastor, but exceptions can be made, especially given the circumstances. I told them I wouldn’t accept even if they offered. I didn’t say I’m considering leaving the Presbyterian Church… .

Reg broke in. Presbytery?

I smiled. Sorry, church terminology again. It’s the regional governing body for local churches. In our case, the presbytery that presides over the state of Ohio.

They basically act like bishops, yes? Reg asked.

I burst out laughing. Essentially, but I would never use that terminology to any good Presbyterian. Having one asshole in control and telling them what to do? Horrifying thought.

I placed fifty cents on the table, the price for saying the word asshole.

Darrin smiled. So, instead, they have several assholes telling them what to do?

Nailed it, I said.

Father Neal rapped my arm with the end of his cane. That’s a very cynical view, boys.

Yes, Father, Darrin and I said together.

I continued. I’m still working out the church stuff and my future. There are a lot of questions in my head. What does the church do? What should it look like? How do we go about it? Should I stay a Presbyterian? What is the nature of the church? I’m not sure what I should do next.

Father Neal poked me with his cane. Just try to be a good minister and churchman.

Will you stop with that cane, old man? I’m starting to get bruises. After the past year, I can’t go back to where I was, I mean, especially after I saw—

Father Neal’s eyes narrowed and he held up his hand. Enough, Aidan. I told you not to speak of it.

I didn’t say anything more as I furrowed my eyebrows. Ever since I saw a glowing cup in Father Neal’s hands at Serpent Mound, he’d refused to talk about it.

Whatever it was, the very sight of it unsettled me in ways I couldn’t explain.

Well, at least Mike got what was coming to him yesterday, Darrin said as he motioned to the Columbus Dispatch in front of me. The headline read, Cult Cemetery Killers Sentenced to Death.

Along with visions of Father Neal holding a glowing cup, I couldn’t shake the evil memories of that horrible night at Serpent Mound. Testifying at the trial brought a fresh round of nightmares filled with the leering, broken faces of the damned. Mike Johns and Daniel Mueller stared at me the entire time with blank eyes. Even though Father Neal told me he had injected them with another dose of magick away, as I called it, before the trial, I kept expecting them to summon back the spirits of the dead. I celebrated my testimony by getting so drunk that Darrin worried about me choking on my own vomit. Not my finest hour. Still, it’s not every day your former boss goes on trial for the murder of your ex-fiancée.

This entity, the Grinning Man, whatever he was, had been freed from the Newark Earthworks around the same time, but refused to show himself in any way. I preferred a face-to-face confrontation instead of the unknown. Father Neal pointed out more than once this is how agents of pure evil usually work—in the shadow of our own doubt and misery.

I decided I didn’t need any more nightmares tonight, so I changed the subject.

I just can’t go back to being the good assistant pastor at Knox. I mean, I think I’m still going to be a pastor, but I don’t think it’s at Knox. In fact, I’m pretty convinced of it.

Father Neal nodded. Have you told your elders?

Not yet. I want to see how Cole, the intern, works out.

Reg scratched a few red marks on a student’s paper. How is he doing?

I shrugged. He is a guy who just graduated from seminary, which means he thinks he has the solutions to all of the church’s problems. I think he stands in constant amazement of how ‘the church, as a whole, just doesn’t get it,’ I said, making quotation marks in the air. The guy is like the greatest hits collection of fix the churchisms. He’s charmed the little old ladies and impressed the session with his drive. Meanwhile, I put up with epistle-length emails that would shame Saint Paul.

Father Neal chuckled. Lad, you are only four years out of seminary yourself. You shouldn’t sound so cynical and jaded. That attitude is for ministers my age.

I sat back and took a drink of my Guinness. I suppose. I mean, I think I’m much better than I used to be.

As long as you have a few ghosts to feed you a dose of reality. Father Neal laughed again.

Darrin lifted his glass. Score one for the old English priest.

We went back to our studying, and I noticed Darrin kept looking at me through his stack of books.

What? What’s wrong? I asked.

Darrin cleared his throat. What does Ms. Jennifer Brown think about all of this?

I tried not to wince. Jen and I hadn’t exactly won any communication awards in the past few weeks. She’s supportive, of course, but she is so wrapped up in some mysterious new task force that we haven’t had time to talk about our, I mean, my future. I know it sounds bad, but I almost wish Weaver had passed her over for this investigation. But I know what she’s doing is important, so I try to keep my mouth shut.

Darrin rubbed his beard. What’s the task force?

I shook my head and stared into my beer. She can’t say. Apparently, the FBI is involved, and she’s been sworn to secrecy.

Darrin frowned. But she hasn’t told you? What’s up with that?

She takes being a cop very seriously and is playing by the rules on this. Part of me admires that, and part of me just wants to scream every time I hear, ‘I can’t talk about that, Aidan.’ I mimicked her voice and then regretted it. I know I’m an asshole sometimes.

Father Neal turned in his seat. Did you get into a fight about her secrecy last night?

I stared at him. How did you know? Did you read my mind?

He sighed. What you feel is all over your face, all the time. Anyone can read you. It doesn’t take magick to do it.

Yeah, we fought, and I said some pretty stupid things.

Darrin crossed his arms and nodded. Yeah, Kate and I have had a few of those. I think I’m learning to control my mouth.

Is that even possible? Reg asked with a chuckle.

Darrin smiled. More than you know.

The table began to vibrate. Reg, Darrin, and I looked down at our phones. I saw Jen’s picture come up on my phone and smiled in spite of the raw feelings over our fight.

I quickly answered, Hey, babe.

Where are you?

I grimaced. Well, hello to you, too.

Father Neal furrowed his eyebrows at me.

Aidan, I don’t have time for a fight. Just tell me where you are.

I’m at The Drunken Priest with the guys.

I heard her breathe a sigh of relief.

Fantastic, I need all of you. Can you please come to the old quarry near Shrum Mound?

Curiosity got the best of me. Of course, what’s wrong?

I need your advice on something. You’ll see the police cars near the entrance. They have instructions to let you through. When can you be here?

All we need to do is pay our bill. The quarry isn’t far from here, so I’m thinking twenty minutes?

Great. I’ll see you then. And, Aidan?

Yes?

I do love you, you know.

I felt myself melt on the spot. I know, I love …

Darrin made kissy faces at me. I gave him the finger and lowered my voice.

I love you, too. See you in a few minutes. I hung up the phone and glanced at my companions who gave me questioning looks. Who is up for tromping around the old quarry tonight? Jen needs our help.

Father Neal examined me as the lines in his face tightened. Did she say why?

I shrugged. No, but it must be some sort of crime scene. She didn’t say it was a murder, and I think she would have told me.

Let’s not keep the lovely lady waiting, let us go forthwith, Darrin said as he gathered up his books.

I shook my head. Someone has been reading too much Shakespeare.

Darrin grinned. Verily, fucking good, sir.

More money for the jar, I said.

After paying our bills, everyone piled into my car. I turned the air-conditioning on full blast as the night hadn’t brought any relief from the humidity. The heat combined with alcohol made sweat roll down my back.

We traveled a few miles down Fifth Street before turning. I saw Shrum Mound rise above the quarry and smiled as I thought about all the time I’d spent with Jen there. No one comes to the mound, so it was a private place to be together.

Darrin leaned over the seat. Why does everything happen to us around mounds?

Father Neal glanced up. Because, mounds are places of power­, didn’t you learn your lesson from Serpent Mound and the Newark Earthenworks?

I thought it was just those particular mounds.

No, all mounds are places of magick; some more than others. There are some … He broke off and stared at the mound.

Some are what? Reg asked.

Some might be paths to other worlds.

Reg looked at Father Neal. You can’t be serious.

I am, and you of all people would know that’s possible.

At first, I couldn’t figure out what Father Neal meant, but then I remembered Reg’s study of alternate worlds in theoretical physics. I reminded myself to ask Father Neal about this later and wondered if the glowing cup had anything to do with it.

Police cars came into view, and I pulled up alongside. Rolling down my window, I motioned to a beefy uniformed cop with dark hair. Hey, Joe, I’m here to see Jen.

Hey, Preacher, good to see you. You doin’ okay?

Can’t complain, other than the heat.

Yeah. He shook his head. I moved to Columbus from Florida to get away from this kind of soup.

I smiled. Where is Jen waiting for us?

Joe motioned down the road. Go around the workstation. You’ll come to an old mine pit. Park the car outside of the tape.

Uh, what exactly are we going to see?

Joe paused and looked behind him. I think you should find out for yourself.

I nodded slowly and rolled up the window. What in the world was that about? He actually looked scared.

Father Neal’s hands gripped his cane. Magick, Aidan.

Walls of gray Ohio limestone rose above us as we drove into the open-air mine. Yellow POLICE LINE—DO NOT CROSS tape stretched across a tunnel. Two uniformed police officers stood guard. We got out of the car and a rancid odor assaulted my nose. The two pints of Guinness in my stomach began to churn.

Darrin put his shirt over his nose. What the hell is that smell?

Father Neal stared grimly ahead. It’s rotting flesh of some type. I’m hoping it’s not human.

I only nodded, afraid I would throw up.

We walked up to the police officers, who raised the tape without asking any questions. They directed us toward the tunnel. Approaching the entrance, a hint of coconut drifted through the stench. Jen stepped out of the tunnel to greet us.

Hey, love, what’s going on?

I’m not entirely sure. I was hoping you could tell me, she said, and then turned to Father Neal. I’m glad you’re here. This one is, uh, a bit unusual.

Darrin looked past Jennifer into the dark tunnel where large police lights illuminated the canyon inside. Murder?

Jen chewed on her lip. No, but, well … Just come this way. Don’t worry, I’ve cleared it with Weaver. You guys are good.

We walked through a small tunnel to another opening and stepped into a rounded open-air mine, about twenty yards deep. The walls of limestone contained thousands of ancient sea creatures.

Staring at the stone walls full of fossils, I wished I’d brought my fossil hammer with me. My next thought as we stepped out onto the canyon floor turned into a prayer.

Christ have mercy.

Chapter Two

Beheaded chickens lay strewn across the rock floor of the quarry, each body carefully arranged to form a full circle, leaving an empty space in the middle. In the center of the circle, chicken skulls were stacked in a neat pyramid, staring at the opposite wall.

Two paths split the circle on each side. One path led from the opening where we stood to the center. The other led to the far wall where a symbol, written in blood, covered the lower rock face. I squinted but couldn’t make out the symbol or its meaning. A message of some sort, but of what, I couldn’t imagine. My mind wandered to the square of empty earth we found at the Newark Earthenworks, the open tomb of the Grinning Man.

We began to walk toward the center. What I assumed to be chicken blood oozed into puddles of water left over from a recent rain. The water looked as if Moses had placed the curse of the Nile on it, as the thin red blood swirled in the inch-deep puddles.

So much for my secret desire to be a chicken farmer, Darrin said.

We reached the middle of the circle and looked around. Father Neal bent down slowly to examine the chicken heads. As he did, I noticed bloody red Xs all around us, covering the bottom third of the quarry walls.

What happened here? Reg asked.

"The what is easy to guess. As for the whom and why …" Father Neal trailed off as he stepped through the chicken corpses to the canyon wall.

I followed him to one of the trio of Xs. The police lights illumined his face as Father Neal traced them with his fingers­, mumbling something in Latin. I tried to translate with my sketchy Latin­ grammar, but nothing made sense. Walking alongside the rock wall, I heard him mutter a few times, The message, what is the message?

I decided to leave him to his investigation and went back to Jen in the middle of the circle. Who reported this?

She gave me a smile. Apparently, some kids making out on Shrum Mound.

Yeah, I heard it’s a good place for that. Wanna try it some time? I winked.

If you’re lucky. She arched an eyebrow and took out her notebook. They called the station around eight o’clock and said they saw a bright flash explode over the canyon. They also heard a female screaming something at the top of her lungs.

Female. I stopped walking. Again, my mind flashed back to the magick used at the Newark Earthenworks. Female magick, Father Neal told us as we stared at the opening in the ground six months ago.

What did the voice say?

Jen stopped and frowned. They couldn’t make it out. The 911 operator asked them that. They said …

What? What did they say?

Well, remember they’re two scared teenagers.

Okay.

Jen shook her head in disbelief. They said it sounded like her voice was commanding, as if giving orders. One of them even said, ‘It sounded like she was casting a spell.’

I looked around, almost expecting the woman to jump out at us. You didn’t find the body of a woman, no drag marks or anything? Footprints? Clothes?

She smiled. Someone has been studying the books I gave him.

I begged Jen to teach me forensics, and she gave me a crash course in the basics through her old textbooks. I have, want to see me apply my knowledge further?

By all means.

We walked over to the canyon wall and looked closer at the Xs drawn there.

Have you looked at these?

Jen nodded. Yes, but forensics hasn’t been here yet. Since this isn’t a murder, it’s not a high priority at this point. They’re working a couple of murder cases as we speak. So, don’t touch anything.

"I won’t. It looks like the Xs were done by someone shorter than me."

Why do you say that?

Because, they are about to my chest. I’m assuming they wrote at their eye level, so I’m thinking they’re around five three or five four. I lifted up my hand to show the measurement.

She smiled. Go on.

"The Xs are in groupings of three, which means they’re part of the message."

She looked surprised. How do you know that?

Father Neal has grudgingly been teaching me how to recognize magick signs.

Her face clouded, and she frowned at me. Jen didn’t like the subject of magick, considering she was almost murdered at the hand of dark magicians.

Never a good sign, I thought, and took a step back.

You never told me that.

I shrugged. You don’t tell me everything, either, so what’s the difference?

She crossed her arms, and I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. Why couldn’t I stop jabbing her for something she couldn’t help?

That’s different, Aidan. It’s my job and there are … She stopped.

There are what?

There are lives on the line.

I looked at the ground feeling stupid, but I wasn’t about to admit defeat. Don’t you trust me?

She sighed. It’s not about trust, Aidan. I gave my word.

I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying, it’s just hard. Because of—

Jen touched my lips. I realize having secrets in a relationship can ruin it. Just know, I’m not trying to keep anything from you on purpose. She motioned toward the wall. "What else do you see in the Xs?"

The blood looks fresh, but it’s starting to congeal. And from the smell, I would say this happened four hours ago at the most.

She listened intently, and I continued. They seem to have been drawn with a finger, not a brush. The rock has been scraped by a fingernail. I wonder if you can get any DNA from that.

She shrugged. Maybe, maybe not. Probably won’t matter much anyway.

Why not?

DNA labs are busy. A chicken massacre isn’t exactly on the priority list. We might get fingerprints, but I’m not sure what sort of crime we would charge the person with.

What do you mean?

We might get them for animal cruelty, or some kind of health code violation or maybe vandalism. The problem with vandalism is that the blood will wash off in the rain, so any decent defense attorney could get a ‘no contest’ plea. This person would probably be sentenced to picking up trash on the side of the road. PETA would hate them, but no one else would care. Maybe we could get them on a cruelty to animals charge. Or, it could just be a stupid high school prank. She wrinkled her nose.

I could tell she was not convinced. You don’t believe that.

No, I don’t. I feel like something nasty is going on here, and given everything we’ve been dealing with down at the station since the Grinning Man’s release, this is just another item on the weird shit list.

We both glanced at Father Neal, who made his way back to the center of the circle slowly. If that’s true, he’ll be able to tell us.

Father Neal stopped and stood still in front of the pile of chicken skulls. His body tensed and his head shook slightly.

Touching him gently on the shoulder, I said, Father?

He didn’t respond and began walking along the other path, staring at the symbol as he went. I watched as he shuffled toward the wall, almost as if dragged against his will. A grimace crossed his face. His lips moved wordlessly as he leaned toward the scrawl on the limestone.

Father Neal stood rigid as he examined what looked like an elaborate cross with blue whorls at each end and small, wafer-size circles in each quadrant. They were colored dark red by the congealing chicken blood.

I walked over to him. What is it?

Father Neal didn’t answer, and I touched him again.

Don’t touch me. No matter what happens.

I don’t understand.

He pointed to the symbol with his cane. It is a veve.

A what?

Father Neal touched the center of the symbol. His arm and body went rigid, and he started to shake as if he’d touched a live wire.

I reached for him and his head turned toward me. His eyes clouded white, and he spoke in a deep voice not his own.

I … said … don’t … touch … me …

Everyone rushed over as they saw Father Neal shake with an unseen force. Jen reached out to him, but I grabbed her arm.

No. Don’t.

I watched in horror as Father Neal continued to vibrate, his lips moving in a quick rhythm. I couldn’t make out his words at first, but as I leaned closer, I heard one phrase.

Elle est dangereuse, he growled out in a deep guttural voice.

I looked at Jen, and she whispered, She is dangerous.

How do you know?

Semester in Paris.

With a final shake, Father Neal yanked his cane out and dropped to the ground. I bent over and saw his eyes turn back to normal color. After a few moments, he looked at me with